The House (8 page)

“Did you meet her?” Sarah asked, staring into her plate. She knew that if she looked at Phil, she would say something she shouldn't and might regret later, like start a fight with him, which would go on all night. She was really angry, more than hurt this time. She felt as though he had stolen the day from her.

“Charlene? Of course. I went to college with her. Don't you remember? I went out with her my freshman year, which is how Dave met her. She got knocked up, and he married her. Glad it was him and not me. Christ, I can't believe they were married for twenty-three years. Poor bastard. She really took him to the cleaners. They always do,” Phil said, polishing off his cheesecake with a satisfied look, as he complimented Sarah again on the dinner. She seemed quiet to him, but he assumed she was probably just full, or tired from the cooking. To Sarah, everything he had just said sounded so disrespectful, about Charlene, their marriage, about women in general. As though all women were lying in wait for men, plotting to marry them, and then divorce them and screw them out of everything they had. Some did that, she knew. Most didn't.

“I didn't mean Charlene,” Sarah said quietly. “I meant the girlfriend. The one younger than his oldest kid.” In Dave's case, Sarah knew that meant she was twenty-two. She could do the math. She just couldn't stomach what that looked like, or said about Phil's old college roommate. What was wrong with all these guys, that they were out there, lusting after girls who were barely more than children? Didn't any of them want a grown-up woman with a brain? Or some experience or maturity? Sitting there, at the table with Phil, she felt like a relic. At thirty-eight, those girls could almost be her children. It was a frightening thought. “Did you meet the girlfriend?” Sarah repeated the question, and Phil looked at her strangely, wondering if she was jealous. As far as he was concerned, that would have been stupid, but you never knew with women. They got upset about the damnedest things. He was almost positive that Sarah wasn't old enough to be sensitive about her age, or anyone else's. In fact, she was, and even more sensitive about how he had spent his day, without including her. She had spent her whole day alone, while he hung out in his apartment, and then played video games with his friend. The reality of that hurt like hell.

“Yeah, of course I did. She was hanging around. She played pool with us for a few minutes. She's a cute girl, not much upstairs, but she looks like a
Playboy
bunny. You know Dave.” He said it almost admiringly. The girl was obviously considered a trophy of sorts, even to Phil. “She got kicked out of her apartment by her roommates, and I think she's living with him.”

“How lucky for him…or maybe for her,” Sarah said in an acid tone, and felt like a bitch as she said it.

“Are you pissed off about something?” It was written all over her face. Helen Keller would have sensed it. And Phil was watching her closely. He was beginning to get it.

“Yes, actually, I am,” Sarah said honestly. “I know you need space to do your own stuff. So I didn't call you all day. I figured you'd call me when you were through. Instead, you were at your place, watching TV, and then hanging out with Dave, and his dumbass bimbo, playing video games and shooting pool, instead of spending it with me. I see little enough of you as it is.” She hated the tone of her own voice, but couldn't help it. She was livid.

“What's the big deal? Sometimes I need some time to chill. We weren't having an orgy, for chrissake. The girl's a kid. That may be Dave's cup of tea, but it's not mine. I love you,” he said, leaning over to kiss her, but this time she didn't respond and turned her face away, and Phil was starting to look annoyed. “For chrissake, Sarah! What are you? Jealous? I came home to you, didn't I? We just had a nice dinner. Don't screw it up.”

“With what? My feelings? I'm disappointed. I would have liked to spend that time with you.” She sounded sad and tense, as much as angry.

“I just ran into him. It happened. It's not a big deal.” He sounded defensive and resentful.

“Maybe not to you. But it is to me. We could have done something together. I missed you all afternoon. I wait all week for these weekends.”

“Then enjoy them. Don't bitch about them. Fine, next time I run into an old friend on a Saturday afternoon, I'll call you. But I don't think you'd have enjoyed hanging out with her, while I talked to him.”

“You've got that right. It's all about the priorities thing again. You're my priority. I just don't feel like yours.” She had been feeling that way for months, now more than ever. It felt like he had just demonstrated, yet again, how inconsequential she was to him.

“You're my priority, too. He invited me to dinner, and I told him I couldn't. You can't keep me on a leash, for chrissake. I need time for myself, to unwind and have some fun. I work my ass off all week.”

“So do I. I still want to be with you. I'm sorry you don't think it's as much fun to spend time with me.” She hated the timbre of her own voice, but there was no hiding her anger or resentment.

“I didn't say that. I need both in my life. Time with my guy friends, and time with you.” She knew it was an argument that would go nowhere. He didn't get it, and maybe never would. He didn't want to get it. She had fallen in love with the Ray Charles of relationships. The music was wonderful, and romantic at times, he just couldn't see a thing. Not about her point of view, at least. In order to end the argument before it got out of hand, she stood up and put the dishes in the sink. He helped her for a minute, and then went and sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. He was tired of defending himself, and didn't want to argue with her, either. He didn't see her crying, with her back to him, as she scrubbed the pans in the sink. It had been a shit week. First Stanley, and now this. It really did feel like a big deal to her. Maybe more so because her mother was always nagging her about Phil. And he never failed to prove her right. Now she had Stanley's words in her head, as well as her mother's and her own. There had to be more to life than this.

By the time she came and sat next to him on the couch, half an hour later, she looked calmer again. She said nothing more about Dave, or his new
Playboy
bunny friend. She knew there was no point, but she was depressed about it anyway. Given Phil's attitude and defenses, she felt powerless to change it. Feeling helpless always depressed her.

“Are you tired?” Phil asked her gently. He thought it was stupid that she'd gotten upset, but he wanted to make it up to her. She wasn't tired, and shook her head. “Come on, babe, let's go to bed. We've both had a long day, and a long week.” She knew he wasn't inviting her to sleep, and for once she felt ambivalent about it. It wasn't the first time she had felt that way, but it seemed worse to her tonight.

He surfed the channels for a while instead, and found a movie they both liked. They watched it until midnight, and then they both took showers, and went to bed. Predictably, the inevitable happened. As always, it was exceptionally good, which made it harder to stay mad at him. Sometimes she hated to respond to him, when she didn't like what was happening in the relationship, but she was only human. And the sex between them was very, very good. Almost too good. At times she thought it blinded her to all else. She fell asleep in his arms, relaxed and physically sated. She was still upset about how he had spent his Saturday, but hurt feelings were the nature of her relationship with him, and so was great sex. Sometimes she was afraid it was an addiction. But before she could make her mind up about it, or mull it over further, she fell asleep.

Chapter 5

Phil and Sarah woke up late
on Sunday morning. The sun was out and streaming across her bedroom. He got up and showered before she was fully awake, as she lay on her side of the bed, thinking of him, and everything that had happened the day before. The day without him, his spending it with his friend without calling her, the way he talked about Dave's ex-wife and his girl friend, and the exceptionally good sex she and Phil had had. All put together, it made for a puzzle where none of the pieces fit smoothly. She felt as though she were trying to fit pieces together that showed trees, sky, half a cat, and part of a barn door. All together they didn't make a picture. She knew what the images were, but none of them was complete, and she didn't feel whole, either. She reminded herself that she didn't need a man to be complete. But so much of the relationship she had with Phil was constantly half-assed. Maybe that was all she needed to know, and eventually act on. There never seemed to be a real connection between them. For the very simple reason that Phil didn't want to be truly connected, to anyone.

“What are you looking so gloomy about?” he asked when he got out of the shower. He was standing stark naked before her, and his flawless body was enough to knock any woman senseless.

“I was just thinking,” she said, lying back against the pillows. She wasn't aware of it, but she looked beautiful herself. Her body was long and lean and lithe, her long dark hair fanned out against her pillow, her eyes the color of bright blue sky. Phil was well aware of how beautiful she was. Sarah had never traded on her looks or even thought about them.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, as he towel-dried his hair. He looked like a naked Viking sitting there.

“That I hate Sundays, because the weekend is over, and in a few hours you'll be gone.”

“Look, silly, enjoy me while I'm here. You can get depressed after I leave, although I don't know why you would. I'll be back again next week. I have been for four years.” That was the problem, for her. Though obviously not for him. What they had was a severe conflict of interests. As attorneys, that should have been clear to both of them, but it wasn't to him. Sometimes denial was a great thing. “Why don't we go out to brunch somewhere?” She nodded. She liked going out with him, and also being at home with him. And then, as she looked at him, she had an idea.

“I'm getting an appraisal on Stanley Perlman's house tomorrow. I've got the keys. I'm meeting the realtor there before I go to the office. Do you want to go over there today, after brunch? I'm dying to have a look around. It might be fun. It's an amazing place.”

“I'm sure it is,” he said, looking uncomfortable, as he stood up, with the full beauty of his body facing her. “But I'm not that into old houses. And I think I'd feel like a cat burglar sneaking around.”

“We wouldn't be sneaking. I'm the attorney of record for the estate, I can go in anytime I want. I'd love to look at it with you.”

“Maybe another time, babe. I'm starving, and after that I really need to get home. I have a full week of de-pos ahead of me again this week. I brought two file boxes of shit home. I've got to get back to my place after brunch.” In spite of her best efforts not to, Sarah looked crestfallen over what he had just said. He always did that to her. She expected to spend the day with him, or hoped to, and he found some reason why he couldn't.

He rarely stayed till lunchtime on Sunday, and today would be no different, which made his spending Saturday with Dave that much worse, which was why she had been so upset. But this time she said nothing. She got up without a word or comment. She was tired of being the beggar in the relationship. If he didn't want to spend the day with her, she would find something to do by herself. She could always call a friend. She hadn't been hanging out with her old friends recently, because especially on weekends, they were busy with their husbands and kids. She liked her time alone with Phil on Saturdays, and on Sundays she had no desire to be a fifth wheel with other people. She spent her Sundays in museums or antique shops, walking on the beach at Fort Mason, or doing work herself. Sundays had always been hard for her. They had always seemed like the loneliest day of the week. They were worse now. They always seemed acutely bittersweet after Phil left. The silence in her apartment after his departure depressed her no end. She could already tell that today would be no different.

She tried to figure out what to do with herself, as she got dressed. She tried to at least feign good spirits, as they walked out of her apartment on the way to brunch. He was wearing a brown leather bomber jacket, jeans, and an immaculate, perfectly pressed blue shirt. He kept just enough of his things at her place so that he could spend the weekend with her, and be decently dressed. It had taken him nearly three years to do that. And maybe in another three, she thought gloomily, he might even stay till Sunday night. Or maybe that would take five, she thought sarcastically as she followed him down the stairs. He was whistling, and in a great mood.

In spite of herself, Sarah had a good time with him at brunch. He told her funny stories, and a couple of really outrageous jokes. He did an imitation of someone in his office, and even though it was stupid and meant nothing, he made her laugh. She was sorry that he wouldn't go with her to see Stanley's house. She didn't want to go there alone, so she decided to wait until she met with the realtor on Monday morning.

Phil was in good spirits, and ate an enormous brunch. Sarah had cappuccino and toast. She could never eat when he was about to leave. Even though it was a weekly occurrence, it never failed to make her sad. She felt rejected somehow. This had been an okay weekend, but for her the day before had been a bust. The lovemaking the night before had been fabulous. But Sunday mornings were always too short. This one was going to be no different. Just another lonely, depressing day after he left. It was the price she was paying for not being married or having kids, or being in a more committed relationship. Other people always seemed to have someone to spend Sundays with. She didn't, when Phil left after breakfast. And she would have cut off her arms and her head before she called her mother. As far as Sarah was concerned, that was no solution. She preferred to be alone. She just wished she could have spent the day with Phil.

She had gotten good at concealing all she felt when he left on Sunday mornings. She managed to look cheerful, and even amused sometimes, when he kissed her lightly on the mouth, dropped her off at her place, and drove home. This time she told him to leave her at the restaurant. She said she wanted to walk down Union Street and check out the shops. What she didn't want was to go home to her empty apartment. She waved gamely, as she always did, when he drove away, back to his own life. End of weekend.